Carter
Chapter fourteen
The sand was still warm, radiating the day’s heat through the soles of my shoes as I walked.
Luka was right; the sunset had been a masterpiece.
The sky had bled into deep purples and oranges, turning the crests of the dunes into a sea of glowing warmth before the evening finally swallowed them whole.
It should have been relaxing. But as the wind picked up, carrying the distant, aggressive roar of engines from the racing dunes a bit further down the coast, I couldn’t stop the restless tap of my fingers against my thigh.
"You're doing it again," Luka said, his voice soft. He was sitting on the tailgate of his vehicle, dangling a bottle of water between his knees.
I stopped my hand mid-tap. "Doing what?"
"Thinking about your thesis. Or that essay. Or whatever it is you do when your eyebrows knit together like that."
I forced a smile, but his touch felt... heavy. Unnecessary. It was a gesture that usually would have been sweet, but tonight it made me want to take a step back. Luka was being attentive—perfectly, frustratingly attentive—in a way that made the air between us feel thick and strange.
"I'm breathing," I lied, adjusted the strap of my bag. "I think the sunset just gave me a headache. I’m going to go find the bathrooms and splash some water on my face. Give me a minute?"
"Sure. I'll be right here," he said, his eyes following me as I turned.
I walked toward the weather-worn timber shack near the edge of the shoreline, grateful for the sudden distance. The darkness had settled in fully now, the only light coming from the flickering lamps of the lot and the occasional flash of high-beams as a custom rig hit a crest.
The roar of the shoreline was louder over here—the churning sound of the tide mixed with the screech of oversized tires and the high-pitched whine of modified engines tearing through the wet sand. It was a chaotic, dirty symphony of salt and exhaust.
I reached the edge of the washrooms and took a deep breath, trying to shake the image of Dominic standing in that hallway, his hand frozen and his eyes burning with a fury I couldn’t quite name.
Pushing into the washroom, the single light hums overhead as I splashed cold water on my face.
The salt air had made my skin feel tight, but it was nothing compared to the weird twist in my gut.
I leaned against the sink, closing my eyes, but the dark behind my eyelids just played back the moment the papers hit the floor.
I stayed there until I could breathe again, then pushed back out into the night.
The timber door hadn't even finished swinging shut when a hand clamped around my upper arm. Before I could even draw breath to scream, I was yanked back, my back hitting the rough wood of the building’s side as I was pulled into the black around the corner.
"What kind of games are you playing at?"
The voice was a low rasp. My heart hammered against my ribs, but the fear evaporated the second I heard him.
"Dominic?" I hissed, my eyes adjusting to the dark. He was looming over me, all hard edges and fractured light. "Are you insane? You almost gave me a heart attack."
"I asked you a question," he snapped, his fingers tightening just a fraction on my arm. He was too close, his intensity cutting through the damp ocean breeze. "Why are you out here? Why are you leading my brother on?"
I blinked, the confusion hitting me first. "Leading him on? We’re at the beach, Dominic. He asked me to see the sunset. It’s not a conspiracy."
"It’s a distraction," he snarled, leaning into my space until I could feel the erratic thud of his own heart. "He doesn't need you in his head. What’s this for you? A set-up? Do you just need to have every Valerio man in your pocket?"
The air left my lungs as if he’d punched me. I stared at him, my head tilting back as a short, twisted laugh broke out of me—sharp and devoid of any humor.
"Every Valerio man?" I repeated, the words tasting like poison. I shoved at his chest, yanking my arm out of his grip with enough force to make me stumble. "Is that what you think? That I’m just trying to collect everyone in your family for the fun of it?"
I stepped back, my chest heaving, searching his face for a flicker of something—regret, shame, anything. I get nothing. "You really have a short memory, don't you? Because as far as I can recall, the count is still sitting at one. And I’m starting to realize that was one too many."
Dominic didn’t flinch. If anything, he stilled completely, the kind of stillness that felt more dangerous than any reaction.
He didn’t look hurt; he looked like he’d sealed something off mid-impact.
A sharp, dry scoff slipped out, his gaze cutting past me for a second before snapping back, focus too exact.
"Is that right?" he asked, his voice a flat, dangerous monotone. "Well, at least we’re finally on the same page about something."
I took a step toward the light of the parking lot, my skin crawling with an anger that made my hands shake. "You’re unbelievable. You’re so wrapped up in your own head that you think the entire world is revolving around your family's namesake."
"Carter, wait—"
I didn't stop. I couldn't. I started walking, my shoes sinking into the loose sand.
"Carter!"
He was behind me in two strides. I felt his hand reach for me again, but this time it wasn't a yank. His fingers brushed against my wrist, cautious and hovering, before settling there with a lightness that felt foreign coming from him.
My feet stopped but didn't turn around as he rounded me.
"I didn't mean it like that," he muttered. The edge was gone from his voice, replaced by something low and strained, like he was forcing the words out through a closed throat.
My focus shifted down at where his hand touched my skin. He wasn't gripping me, but his fingers were trembling—just a tiny, rhythmic pulse against my wrist that he couldn't seem to stop.
I didn't soften. If anything, the gentleness felt like a bigger insult than the shouting. I pulled my hand away slowly, the movement deliberate, putting distance between us. I didn't look at him, but I felt the way he flinched when the contact broke.
Tell me why I noticed that, I thought, a bitter pulse of irritation hitting me. I should’ve been focused on the sting of his words, not the way the air seemed to drain from the area the second he lost his grip on me.
I started to walk away, but the image of him in the hallway flashed behind my eyes—the way his fingers had just... quit. The way he’d looked at his own hand like it belonged to a stranger. I stopped, the air stinging my lungs, and turned back before I could talk myself out of it.
"What happened earlier?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. “Back at the practice facility.”
He stiffened, his shoulders squaring, going blank in a way that felt intentional. "I told you. The humidity. My grip slipped."
"Don't give me that," I said, taking a step toward him.
I wasn't looking for a confession to hold over him; I just needed to understand why the person I’d spent months living nearby had just broken in front of me.
"I saw your face. Your hand—it didn't just slip.
It went dead. For a second, you weren't even there. "
"Drop it, Carter." The warning in his voice was a low vibration, the kind of sound a predator makes right before it strikes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hiding them from my sight, but I could see the tension vibrating through his forearms.
"Dominic, look at me." I stepped closer, close enough to see the frantic pulse in his neck. "I’m not the enemy here. You’re shaking. Is it a tremor? Did something happen?"
"I said drop it!" He snapped, the volume of his voice cutting clean through the silence, echoing off the water. He paced a short, tight circle, like a caged animal. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. You see one moment of weakness and you think you’ve got me figured out."
"I don't think I have you figured out at all," I said, my voice dropping to a quiet sound.
"That's the problem. But I know racing. And I know that look on a driver's face when they realize their body isn't listening to them anymore. You’re terrified, and you’re taking it out on me because I’m the only one who saw. "
He stopped pacing and leaned into my space, his breath hot against my cheek. "If I'm hurt, what? You’ll go running to your father? Tell the coach his lead driver is a liability? Is that the play? Get me benched so you can spend more time playing house with Luka?"
"It’s not a play! I’m asking because—" I bit the word back, the air catching in my throat. I reached out, my hand hovering near his arm, desperate to stop the space growing between us with every word. "I'm asking as someone who—"
"As someone who what?" Dominic stepped into the light, his eyes tracking the movement of my hand with a predatory sharpness. He didn't move away, but he didn't lean in either. "Finish the sentence. As someone who cares?"
He let out a short, blunt laugh—a sound so humorless it made my skin crawl. "You? You care about me?"
"I didn't say that," I snapped, pulling my hand back and curling it into a fist at my side. "I said I'm asking as a person with eyes. Someone who knows that if you go into a corner at two hundred miles an hour and your hand decides to check out again, you aren't just a liability—you’re a corpse."
"We aren't friends. We were never friends.
" He looked at the space where my hand had just been as if the air itself was contaminated.
"You're just like your father. You see a crack in the foundation and you start measuring for the demolition.
You want to see me weak so you have something to pull the trigger on when things don't go your way. You’re just waiting for the right moment to use me as leverage. "
"Is that really all you think of me?" The question felt small, pathetic.